The ugly duckling remained ugly its whole life but found others as ugly as itself, I guess that’s the message. Smoke rises from the heads in the backyard. Do you think if I hang around here long enough someone will proffer a muffin, one skulking shadow to another? Soon, my shoes will be part of the populous dirt. Have I learned all the wrong lessons, the ones you shouldn’t know until the last dew-clogged lawn is mowed and the sun goes down on the ruined battlements? Why was I given a toy train if not to stage stupendous wrecks? Sure, I can walk by the sea holding a hand with as much melancholy as the next fellow, substituting the cries of slammed waves for the droll adumbrations of distraught skeletons, the day taking on the sheen of a stone removed from the mouth and skipped between the breakers jubilant and sunk.
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